


lIfe is but a fever dream and I am on thin fucking ice

by DankimusJointicus



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Good Omens Sonas, Major Original Character(s), Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-18 21:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20319931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DankimusJointicus/pseuds/DankimusJointicus
Summary: I’m stupid and cringey so guess what??? Good Omens Sona’s timeCharacters featured:Budsturga (@mellow_elbow on insta)Barratiel/Barry (@irleggyolk on insta)Proxanne/Roxanne/Roxy (@mis.march on insta)Mille (@miller.izo on insta)Haniel (@azulytoons on insta)Petey (@_piwikiwi_ on insta)Asmodeus (@wassabi._.jack on insta)





	1. Barratiel

My sun my earth

My stars my moon

Do you remember me?

You used to sing where we would meet

Where the shore would kiss the sea

And so you sang a note unholy

And, oh, so suddenly fell

I wondered if you’d remember me

In the deepest pits of hell

In the dead of night, there are a lot of things going on. 

People are dreaming, for one. People are committing crimes, people are being born, people are dying- and people are waking in a cold sweat from a nightmare, much like Budsturga. She doesn’t have a last name and, as far as she’s concerned, she doesn’t have a past. She is merely a figment of her neighbors’ imaginations. She is no one. And yet, she’s an important tool in the hands of Heaven and Hell- or so she’s told. She doesn’t know what makes her so powerful, aside from the striking teal eyes that shouldn’t belong to a human. That’s what she is, right? She can’t remember.

Nevertheless, she’s waking in a cold sweat. Clutching the thin blanket she was supplied with, her eyes burst open and she’s greeted with her familiar apartment illuminated only by the soft glow of the street lamps below and the waning moon above. This does not feel like a home, and although she wishes to think back to when she first moved in to see if it ever had- that isn’t an option. Despite the environment, she’s still coming down from the high of anxiety, feeling her vision distort and sway as she stumbles to the bathroom and all but dunks her head under the tiny stream of water.

It’s supposed to help, she was told._ Before they come and your vision starts to change, snap yourself out of it. Shock yourself. _It never did. But at this point it was a habit, she knew when to start expecting side effects and knew that the best way to ride them out was to sleep it off and wait for company. Or, if they were bad enough, to directly call for someone to heal them temporarily. 

She dries her face with an old hand towel, dragging it roughly across her skin before bringing herself to look in the mirror. She should’ve seen her reflection- bouncing blonde hair, clammy skin, and tired, monstrous eyes. 

Instead, to her disappointment, she saw a distorted and trembling image of a woman in a sheer blue gown with long, waving locks of golden hair intertwining with one another. This is a woman she’s seen before, one who resides deep within her that she can never recognize or remember. Her eyes are hidden, her appearance constantly shifting and glitching as random bursts of color distract Budsturga from what she’s trying to look at.

She wishes she could remember.

It becomes apparent that these are not symptoms she can ride out, as she bases from the swarm of roaches erupting from her sink and the hands sprouting from the popcorn ceiling to grab at her hair, so she leaves the darkness of her apartment, staring out into the wall of her apartment building hallway as she tried to get used to the light again. She reminds herself, almost as if casting a spell, that she doesn’t want to hallucinate.

There are many portals to Heaven, along with portals to portals, portals to portals to portals, and so on and so forth. Luckily, one of the latter is next door to Budsturga’s apartment. She walks up to it, resting her head under the worn down “333” of the door before muttering a name. 

“Barratiel.”

The door trembles and creaks, a blinding white light illuminating from deep within before suddenly stopping as if it had never begun. The cheaply painted door swings open, revealing a taller man with swooping blond waves and kind brown eyes- which is all you should ever look at as below his wide nose was a curse Budsturga longed to rid of. He was forever stuck with an unwavering smile, no matter how hurt he felt on the inside he was forced unwillingly to hold the false, loving composure.

Standing before her was Barratiel- a simple angel who was originally created as a one-man audience for all of God’s decisions. When she tired of him, she sent him along to support others- never releasing his forced smile. It was his job to bring medicine to Budsturga once a month and see her for a short while every few days to ensure there weren’t any new side effects. There often were.

“It’s five in the morning, Budsturga, you should be asleep.” He says matter-of-factly, almost as if he were programmed to do it. 

“I know, I just- can you come over? Stay with me for a few hours?”

Barratiel’s smile wavers ever so slightly, his eyes softening. “Going through withdrawals already? You still have another week before you’re due.”

“I know, _ I know _-” Budsturga assures him, running her hands over her face in frustration, “I’m just hallucinating again. I can’t sleep like this. Can you just come over or- or-” She hesitates, taking Barratiel’s hand and bringing it to the side of her face. “Can you just make them go away? Please?”

Barratiel gives in, cupping her cheek gently and watching her melt into his touch. “I can’t.” He finally admits quietly, his heart breaking behind his smile.

“Why not?” Budsturga asks, hurt at the denial.

“It’s not my duty to heal you, Budsturga. I’m not even supposed to, I never should have started. I mean- what you’re asking for and everything- If Heaven knew about the miracles I was using to keep you in check they-”

Budsturga cut him off, grabbing him by his tie and yanking him down to her level. “I don’t care about Heaven,” she remarks coldly, pressing her forehead against his as a hope to intimidate him. “I care about you, Barry. And right now the only thing I need is for this to go away.”

Barry swallows thickly, a heavy blush on his face at the words he had taken out of context. Budsturga becomes aware of them as well, fumbling to let go of his tie and taking a step back with her hands in surrender. “Bud?”

“Forget it.” Budsturga demands, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her shorts and practically bolting to her apartment. “Forget I said anything.”

We were so close before you fell

And now I lay forlorn

Here you are- a hollow shell

And I, beside you, mourn

Budsturga couldn’t believe what she had said.

You don’t just say that to someone- especially an angel. She was sitting with her back to her front door, replaying the moment over and over in her head and constantly embarrassing herself.

_ “I don’t care about Heaven, I care about you.” _

She was an idiot. An idiot with blushing pink cheeks and tears of regret spilling down them. She choked at the knock on the door, recognizing the warm aura Barratiel gave off before he could even speak. 

“Budster?”

“Go away.”

Barratiel hesitates to speak again, his shadow fidgeting from the other side of the door. “Don’t you want me to help you?”

Budsturga weighs her options, glancing up at the ceiling of hands that hadn’t been there a few hours before. She couldn’t just push him away- Heaven would send Roxy back and if there was anyone she’d prefer to forget it was her. “And so what if I don’t? Maybe I just want to sit here and hallucinate.”

“We both know you’d prefer to at least not do it alone.” Barratiel reminded, putting some weight against the door.

Budsturga broke at that, fumbling to stand and swinging the door open. She watched as the angel nearly fell forward, having had his forehead pressed against her door for a moment. “You won’t heal me, will you?” She asked again, crossing her arms.

“I can’t,” Barratiel reminds, stepping inside before Budsturga could shut the door again. “What you’re asking for- it’s something not even an archangel could perform. I can’t heal you forever, Budsturga. I can only delay them for a short while.” He shuts the door behind him, cupping Budsturga’s tear-stained cheeks and wiping at the streaks. “I wish I could be more frivolous in healing you, Bud, but I can’t go and put you at risk.”

“I know.” Budsturga mumbles, giving in and wrapping her arms around his middle. “I hate it.” She mutters, grabbing at his blazer shakily. She struggles to keep her breath steady, trembling as she watches her apartment morph into other horrors.

“I know.” Barratiel assures her, holding her close and pressing his smile against her hair.


	2. Roxy / Haniel and Mille / Barratiel and Petey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Proxanne/Roxanne/Roxy belongs to mis.march on Instagram  
Haniel belongs to azulytoons on Instagram  
Mille belongs to miller.izo on Instagram  
Barratiel belongs to irleggyolk on Instagram  
Petey belongs to _piwikiwi_ on Instagram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise surprise I'm still That Dumb Bitch who is too picky to draw their OC's origin

You were so strong and, once, so wise

I almost envied you

But now your life rests in my hands

And I don’t know what to do

It hurts to say that you are missed

Or that I hate who you’ve become

But if I ever revealed the truth

You’d weep at what you’d done

Before Barratiel, there was Roxanne.

Budsturga was forbidden to refer to the angel as “Roxy” as Barry was allowed to, enforcing the idea that they would never be close. She was an angel of punishment, foreseeing all torture of enemies and, when Budsturga fell into their hands, making sure she didn’t cause trouble. Budsturga never knew of any trouble she had caused, but then again any memories past the last month usually became more and more difficult to recall.

Nevertheless, she hated Roxanne.

She wasn’t sure why, but something deep inside of her twisted at the sight of the angel. She had developed a Pavlovian reaction to the click of the angel's shoes outside of her apartment door on the occasions where she was to deliver Budsturga’s “medicine”.

A rather flattering term.

The medicine, or so what was described as such to Budsturga, was essentially concentrated angelic grace. It looked like an ethereal gumball you’d get from the 25 cent machines in shady restaurants. The orb in question was, however, not as strong as a gumdrop. The simplest pinch would split it in two, and the essence would race toward Budsturga’s face and overwhelm her orifices to “heal” her. 

It looks peaceful, from the outside. On the inside, the startling pain is so immense it renders its victims immobile for a few moments before coursing through their veins and making them sick and weak. If you, a human, were to ingest it, your body would tense and strain itself until you died. Do you know what that’s like? To have every muscle and tendon in your body stretched in opposite directions as the equivalent to a lightning strike coursed through your veins and burned your heart from the inside out?

You can’t even imagine. You don’t want to.

It would _kill_ you.

Budsturga, on the other hand, doesn’t get a choice.

It is Roxanne’s duty to administer the medicine and to see that Budsturga’s body doesn’t reject it before promptly leaving without a second glance. Leaving her behind to writhe and wretch on her living room floor.

Barratiel would later take on this job.

Today is a medicine day.

Don’t bother trying to keep up with the schedule, as it seems erratic and unorganized. Sometimes she goes three days without a dose, other times it’s two weeks. Budsturga stopped trying to keep track. Instead, she sat on the edge of her futon and tensed more and more as the familiar weight of Roxanne’s steps neared her apartment from down the hall.

Roxanne doesn’t bother with knocking or requesting to enter, instead miracling the door open and stepping inside as if she’d rather be anywhere else in that moment. And, in all honesty, it was the truth. “Good evening to you.” She mutters to the darkness, flicking on the lights and giving a cold stare at Budsturga.

“It’s technically morning.” Budsturga points out, gesturing to the alarm clock that was currently flashing “ 3:00 AM “ in - glowing green text.

“And time is technically an illusion, now shut up.” Roxanne spits back, shutting the door and approaching the futon. She holds out her hand, the small ball of grace slowly swirling in its clear capsule.

“What would happen if I didn’t take it?” Budsturga suddenly asked, getting Roxanne to hesitate the process.

“What?’

“If I- If I didn’t take it? What would happen?”

Roxanne’s eyes hid something horrendous behind them, a silent witness to monstrosities throughout the years. “Unspeakable tragedies,” She began, her voice strained at the memories. “You already have quite the record and I can’t afford anymore on your file. We all remember-”

“No,” Budsturga interrupts, glaring down at the floor. “I don’t _ remember _. Kind of my thing.”

Roxanne presses her lips together tightly, extending a caring hand to lift Budsturga’s head. “And that’s just the way I _ like _it,” She assures coldly, grabbing Budsturga’s hair tightly to keep her in place before clenching her hand and shattering the orb. She watches, emotionless, as the essence forces itself into Budsturga and renders her useless before letting her fall to the ground. “Know your place, Budsturga.” She says, leaving her to suffer.

I watched you fall so long ago

And wondered if you knew

That we once stood

Side by side, admiring the view

I knew the song that you would sing

Though your words now misconstrued

And I wonder if you’ll remember me

And what I did for you

In the dead of night, during Budsturga’s regularly scheduled torture, are an angel and a demon.

Not the ones you’re used to, as it’s their job to spy on some spies.

Haniel, the archangel who originally guarded the tree of life before it was decided that humans were to be mortal, is currently leaning over the edge of a shop roof admiring a corner bookshop run by one of her elite soldiers- well, once elite.

Mille, their demon partner, is currently sprawled out on the cement of said roof. “Haniel, it's 3:15 in the morning. He’s not going to be doing anything. We should just go back to spying on the demon. Kyle or- or Calvin. Whatever his name was.”

“Crowley,” Haniel hisses, glancing back and having to do a double-take at the sight of Mille’s odd sleeping position. “You know better than I that he partakes in the inane ritual of sleeping. It’s useless to try and observe him at this hour.

“Sleeping sounds wonderful, now that you mention it,” Mille yawns, earning a swat to the leg.

“Stay alert, will you? Aziraphale is moving.” She notes, leaning further over the brick and concrete ledge as Mille made no effort to perk up.

“Yea? And what’s he doing?” Mille asks, keeping their eyes closed. “Let me guess, he’s still in his day clothes, wearing those stupid glasses and reading a murder mystery on his couch,” They guess, opening one eye for approval of their theory.

Haniel is quiet for a moment. “He’s actually reading a smut novel,” She corrects quietly, running her hands over her face in frustration. “I don’t get it! We were sent to look for a new Armageddon, why wouldn’t it involve the idiots who averted it?”

“Maybe it does involve them,” Mille assures her, finally sitting up. “Maybe it just doesn’t involve them _ yet _.”

“That’s stupid,” Haniel notes, slumping onto the cold cement and pressing her back against the wall. “Where are we supposed to find another end of the world?”

“It’ll turn up eventually. Just wait it out.”

“That’s _your_ job. I’m supposed to stay ever observant.”

“Yea? And how’s that working out for you?”

Haniel blushes, too flustered to string together a sentence. “Shut up.”

Forgotten tales and forbidden knowledge

Often leave one to rot

But dig a little deeper and find

What you should not

If you’re willing to remember

(and I assume you are)

You’ll discover time heals the deepest wounds

But trauma often scars

In the vaults of heaven preside two angels. Barratiel (as you know) and Petey.

Petey is the angel of archives and is often confused with their other half- Redueriel- who is powerful enough to create ephemera and once worked alongside them. They are two sides of the same coin, but vastly different. Petey is mostly seen dashing back and forth between the endless aisles of filing cabinets filled to the brim with history of, well, everything. Every demon, angel, humans, animals, even plants have files.

The usual running about is, to Petey’s surprise, disrupted by Roxy bursting through the door drenched in water and cursing between several dead languages. “That little mistake of God is going to pay! Give me her file this instant!” She demands, slamming her fists against the counter.

Petey sat their files on an abandoned chair that had become a mountain of unorganized files centuries ago. “For whom?”

“Budsturga,” Roxanne growls out, her knuckles white from the intensity of her clenched her fists.

Petey nods, dashing down an aisle in search of it.

“Budsturga?” Barratiel suddenly asks, losing interest in a file for one of his tasks. “She’s still alive?”

Roxanne nods slowly, practically radiating hatred for the name. “She’s very much alive, and I’m about to kill her.”

Barratiel is quiet for a moment, his smile wavering ever so slightly. “I take it she’s the reason you’re drenched?”

“Little bitch decided to put a bucket of water over her bathroom door to try and sneak out.”

Barratiel nods, setting his file to the side of the counter. “Do you think it has something to do with you? I mean, she was forced to have human reactions. I doubt she’s trying to run away from something trivial.”

“She’s sick of the medicine, and she hates me. Is that what you wanted to hear? Hoo boy, don’t I feel better!” Roxanne huffed sarcastically, her anger beginning to boil the water off of her skin.

“May I try?”

Roxanne practically fell over, the question having thrown her off. “What?”

“May I try to give her the treatment? Maybe she’ll react better to someone she doesn’t know.”

“More like doesn’t remember. She’ll forget you every time unless you start showing up every day.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to see her every day.” Barratiel shrugs, not really seeing the issue.

Roxanne glares up at him, approaching him like a predator. “She’s dangerous, Barratiel. You can’t even begin to imagine what she’s capable of.”

“I think I can handle getting drenched,” Barratiel assured her, his smile turning sincere for a moment.

Roxanne’s face heated up, leaving her too angry to form words for a few moments. “If she doesn’t get her tranquilizer she becomes a lunatic. If you think you can handle it, then by all means!” She goes on, handing him a little white box. “Be my guest. When another orb manifests it’ll be your time to shine.” 

Barry watches her stomp off, smiling down at the box and tucking it away in his blazer pocket.

Petey scampered up to the desk, looking around for Roxanne. “Finally get her to let it go?” They ask, looking up to Barry.

He nods, taking up one of the files. “Is this everything about Budsturga? The job was transferred to me.”

Petey yelps, swiping the files back and holding them away. “I’m sorry, whether it’s your job or not these files are classified between select individuals. Not even I know what’s in these Barry.”

“Who is it classified between?” Barry asks, unable to control the smile at Petey’s behavior.

Petey hesitates, setting the files on the lower part of the counter. “Roxanne and Gabriel are the only individuals permitted to access these files. I’m sorry Barratiel, that’s all I can tell you. You’d better leave.” They mumble, going back to the files they had left on the mountain of information before.

Barratiel watched them go, reaching across the counter and taking the files. He stuffs them under his arm- weighing his choice of theft before quickly leaving the room.


	3. Asmodeus/Familiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asmodeus belongs to @/wassabi._.jack

_ Red sky at morn _

_ Sailors warn _

_ Away from water, scared _

_ For deep beneath _

_ The crashing waves _

_ A monster skulks and ensnares _

Asmodeus. A name practically engraved into modern knowledge, yet incredibly misunderstood. Sure, he’s a demon ruling over Lust- but humans tend to only understand Lust in terms of sex. Lust is many things. He can make you crave murder, long to steal and influence you to give in to your deepest desires. 

The result is usually sexual.

Asmodeus is known, nowadays, as Ash Deva- a pretty clever alias if you’re up to date on all things religion- and he goes about with this name as a well-known man who opens exotic dance floors, and is almost always surrounded by the most beautiful people (by human standards).

You’d be a fool to have never heard of  _ The Lair _ \- one of Soho’s most well-known strip joints that never seems to be where it was last time but always being where those weak to lust need it. It was his best idea yet- and he’d got quite the recognition for it from Hell. He enjoyed waiting from the outskirts, watching the people pile in desperately. It was entertaining, watching humans practically trip and trample over one another just to bask in the aura of Asmodeus.

Except for one.

In an alley across the street, behind the safety of a dumpster, watches someone else.

A  _ demon _ , Asmodeus can tell. She’s fascinated with the neon lights of the joints and flashing silhouettes from the tinted club windows. Meanwhile, Asmodeus is more fascinated with her. He was supposed to be the one infecting mankind with lust, and yet here was the perfect piece of eye candy just waiting for something new. She looked upon the strip club like a child would look up at the night sky and wait for a shooting star.

She was infectious.

“You can go in, you know.” He finds himself saying, having not been paying attention to the fact he was walking up to her.

“Oh! No- no. I can’t really, I just think the lights are nice.” She assures him, trying to hide her face.

“Why not? A grown woman like you shouldn’t have a curfew. Nothing wrong with going in and having a little fun.” He tries again, a glimmer in his eyes forcing her to look up at him. He’s almost taken back by the striking eyes- the iris instead taking up the entire eye like a web. “Come inside, won’t you?” 

The woman hesitates, noticing his held his hand out as if they were about to make a deal. “I-I can’t. I’m sorry.” She blurts, taking a step back.

“Then can I expect to see you again?” Asmodeus asks, taking a step toward her. “I’d truly like to show you a good time. I promise you’ll have fun.”

The woman hesitates again, finally giving a quick nod before turning to leave.

Asmodeus was a man able to leave a human being trembling with want and desire, but he had never felt so tempted.

_ Could you sing that song again _

_ The one where all was good _

_ Before I spoke to you too much _

_ And you were just a fool? _

_ Sing the tune, the melody _

_ The rhyme that I once heard _

_ So I can regret my little mistake _

_ That left your body burned _

Nightly visits to the Soho bookshop were usually short.

Haniel usually watched from inside another building, or atop the roof of one. Mille was usually there, but for once they’d decided to keep their distance to get better angles on Aziraphale. It was usually a waste of time, as Mille would fall asleep without Haniel to talk to- and the fact that Aziraphale never did anything different.

It was four in the morning, or so nearby clock rang out, but Haniel was desperate. She’d wait for eons for an answer to her question- how would the world end next? It was a reasonable question, as it was practically engraved in the ethereal and occult beings. The world had to end. It was supposed to, if not when it was regularly scheduled- soon.

The streets were quiet, every car neatly parked to the side as Haniel sat in a waiting chair of a closed pediatricians waiting room. All night, the principality just went about their shop. 23:00 he’d dust the shelves, 23:45 he’d get distracted with a book, 1:00 he’d doze off, 3:30 he’d wake back up and finish reading.

Haniel hated predictability.

She sat, tense and frustrated as she practically glared holes into the windows of the shop before her vision was obstructed for a split second. Someone had passed by in a hurry, and she could practically drown in the power radiating from the person. She practically flung herself out of the shop, watching in shock as a woman glanced back and continued walking.

Haniel hated predictability- but that was mostly because she’d never felt true pain from a surprise. She recognized the being, her heart aching as she dashed toward the woman and tugged her back- staring up into her eyes. “It’s you.” She murmured, taking the woman's hands into her own and studying her. “I-I was so worried! I thought Heaven would obliterate you before casting you out and here you are!”

The woman looked down awkwardly at Haniel, not seeming to understand how to react to a sudden hug. “Do I know you?”

Haniel looked up, something deep inside of her aching at being brushed off. “Wha- What are you talking about? Hell doesn’t erase memories and- and-” Haniel cut herself off, suddenly hit with the crippling realization that the woman before her had no idea who she was. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

The woman shook her head, and Haniel broke instantly.

“No! They wouldn’t make you forget- you have to remember me!” She begged, almost to herself as Mille ran up to the scene. “Please… please, tell me you remember?” 

“Haniel-” Mille interrupted trying to tug the angel away.

“Stop it! Don’t touch me, she has to remember me! Don’t you remember?” Haniel cried out, desperately grabbing at the woman.

“You’re… familiar,” She finally admitted, squinting as if she were struggling to see Haniel. “Why are you familiar?”

Haniel collapsed in heartbreak, staring up at the woman and feeling her chest ache with her shallow breaths. “I’m so sorry,” she admitted brokenly, sobs washing over her. “I ruined you, I’m so sorry.”


End file.
